The Reluctant Guest

by Rosalind Brett

  “Genuine, or defensive?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but picked up her case and went outside with it. With pale cheeks and a constricted heart, Ann looked about her. She put on the white jacket, gathered her handbag and walked outside into a soft, overpowering heat There was a stretch of wet grass, a slope of rocks and bushes and, not fifty yards away, the sea; pale-blue this morning and entirely benign under a misty blue sky which was clearing in the hot sunshine.

  She got into the car, and the trembling in her was like the throbbing of the sea. But she held up her shining tawny head, and waited for him to close up the shack and start the car. They moved away into the thick mud of the lane, and Storr put on speed. Soon they had climbed a coastal road which Ann hardly believed to be the churning track they had travelled last night. And there, high above the sea and overlooking it from the upper windows, stood the thatched house, steaming in the sun. The strange thing was that though she told herself she was only yards from her parents, Ann felt nothing. She was even able to put on a bright smile as she went with Storr into the porch.

  A houseboy answered his tattoo on the plain yellow door. Storr waved her in as if he owned the place and told the servant to call Mrs. Calvert and then bring in the luggage. Ann stood in the bright square hall, her whole being detached from this moment; perhaps she withdrew from it because it was unbearable: Storr meeting her mother for the first and last time...

  Mrs. Calvert came through from another room, stood spellbound for a long moment before a delighted smite lit up her features and blue eyes. She wore grey, a mid-grey tailored skirt and an embroidered blouse of a lighter tone. Her hair, a fading honey-blonde, was as neatly dressed as ever, and her hands with their tapering fingers fluttered as if they were useless—which they weren’t. She was an excellent needlewoman and cook, and had turned out what her husband called “itsy-bitsy” water-colors which were pleasing if not world-shaking.

  “Ann, dear!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t believe my eyes!”

  They kissed. Ann said, with surprising calmness, “I became rather anxious about you, and Mr. Peterson said he could bring me here in his plane, so I came.”

  “Plane! But, heavens...” She turned to Storr. “You’re terribly kind, Mr. Peterson!”

  Knowing how he reacted to gratitude, Ann said hurriedly, “Yes, I was grateful. Are you alone here, Mother?”

  “Just your father and me, dear.”

  “How is he?”

  “A little impatient, but very well. I’ve just told him he must rest—he will pop out of bed. Do sit down, Mr. Peterson. I’m sure you’d like something to drink. You must have started out very early this morning.”

  Fortunately, Mrs. Calvert was vague about distances, places and times. Storr inclined his head towards her suavely. He had changed his mood to suit this woman who liked things to be ordered and serene. He was even smiling at her with calculated charm.

  “It was no trouble,” he said. “I’m happy to have been of service.”

  “What will you drink?”

  “I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I have to get back to Durban.”

  “So soon?” The older woman looked dismayed. “Can’t you at least stay to lunch?”

  With forced cheerfulness, Ann said, “Mr. Peterson has to refuel the plane and go to Johannesburg. He’s a busy man.”

  “Yes, you must be.” She turned to Ann. “We only had one letter from you, and you didn’t mention Mr. Peterson. What a pity you couldn’t bring Theo.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” said Storr. “We hadn’t time.”

  Again, Ann put in quickly, “Theo’s gone back to flying—I must tell you about it. How are you—yourself? It must have been a great strain for you, and such a worry.”

  “Well, yes, it was. But you know, dear, though I wouldn’t have had your father hurt for the world if I could have avoided it, I’ve almost enjoyed nursing him! The morning of the operation was a little wearing, but I’ve been so lucky in these friends who lent us the house.” She stopped suddenly. “How did you know we were here?”

  “From the hotel. We’ll talk about it later.” Ann flickered a glance at Storr, who had moved towards the door. With an ache like tears in her throat, she said, “You do have to leave now, I suppose?”

  “Yes. There may be a hitch at the airport.” He opened the door, held out a hand. “Goodbye, Mrs. Calvert.”

  “Perhaps we’ll see you again some time?”

  “Could be.”

  “Go down to the car with Mr. Peterson, Ann. It’s still damp and I’m wearing slippers.”

  Ann hesitated, passed Storr in the doorway and went down the steps. Mrs. Calvert remained in the doorway, still looking as if she did not quite believe her daughter were here.

  Storr stood with his hand on the car door; his tones were edged and cynical. “Well, it’s so long, Pretty Ann. Have a nice rest.”

  She stood facing him, straight and very pale. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do, but it’s a little late to do any dissecting. I’ll be seeing Theo. Any message?”

  “I haven’t read his letter yet. I’ll write to him.”

  He said crisply, “I suppose you’ll be writing to me, too—a correct little note of thanks for the trip. Address it to P.O. Belati West.”

  “Are you going to ... to stay there, at Groenkop?”

  “For a while. Well, I’ll be going.”

  Now that the time had come she wanted to cling to each second with all she had. “I hope you’ll have a good journey.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And that ... that you’ll get what you want in life.”

  “Thanks again.”

  She couldn’t soften him. She stepped back and put on the smile her mother expected, a polite, conventional expression of farewell, as she said, “Well, goodbye. And good luck.”

  “Keep cosy and away from danger,” he said coolly. And he drove away.

  Ann watched the car vanish; then she turned and draggingly made her way back into the house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MRS. CALVERT’S resolution and calmness in the face of catastrophe not only surprised Ann, but it also astonished and pleased her husband. When they had arrived to spend five days in Durban before continuing their shipboard journey, Mr. Calvert had been loath to mention the pain and stiffness in a knee which should have recovered days ago. He had slipped away and consulted a doctor in the town, but when surgery had been prescribed he had had no choice but to take his wife into his confidence. At first he had wanted to get in touch with Ann, but Mrs. Calvert wouldn’t hear of it. This was Ann’s first holiday for eighteen months and it was not to be interrupted. Besides, she herself was feeling fine and, after all, he was the one who had to suffer the operation, not she.

  Mr. Calvert himself told Ann the details that afternoon, when she sat with him in the balcony of his room while her mother rested elsewhere. He was brown and vigorous, very cross about the plaster kneecap which gave him gyp whenever he tried to walk. But he laughed when he spoke about her mother.

  “You know, my dear, the coddling we gave her did her more harm than good. On the ship she walked the deck in the wind, and as soon as we reached Durban she bathed! Imagine how glad I was that we’d decided on the cruise. She’s enjoyed putting me in my place and running the show, and in a way I think it’s partly what she needed, to keep from wondering whether she’d crock up and cause us more worry this winter.”

  “She looks grand,” Ann said softly. “It seems to suit her here, too. Pity she can’t live here always.”

  “Funny you should say that. The Whittakers—they’re the people who own this house—have become great friends of ours. They took to your mother straight off, and yesterday, when they brought us here, we all talked together for some time. Mr. Whittaker is a director of one of the big sugar estates, and he offered me a post as secretary to the company. I’m suppose
d to be thinking it over, but I’ve almost decided. Your mother would be happier away from the Atlantic gales. It’s queer, but she takes to the heat of the Indian Ocean.”

  “What about you?”

  “I like Natal, and I’m told the fishing is splendid.”

  Ann smiled. “Then you’d be happy, too. But there’s your job and the house at Newlands.”

  “I’ve been thinking about them. I still have just over a month of leave, and if I post the company a month’s notice, that should be all right. I don’t like doing it, but they knew I always regarded the position as a stopgap while I felt my way in the country. As to the house...”

  He looked at her questioningly. “You’re fond of it, aren’t you?”

  It seemed strange to Ann that she had once loved stucco and tiles and an incredibly neat little lawn bordered with flowers, way over in Cape Town. She nodded. “But you’ll have a house here.”

  “Naturally, and you’ll find a nook for yourself as well. If you hadn’t turned up I was going to write you in Cape Town, and suggest that you give in your notice at the Riding School and put the house into the hands of an agent. It’s not an expensive place, so it should sell quite easily. With what we get for it we can go some way towards buying a place near Durban. Not right out here, of course.” He smiled. “These houses along the coast are where the rich spend their weekends. The Whittakers left us this weekend because they thought I should be quiet—I’m perfectly well, though. They’ll be out next Saturday morning and with luck I’ll do some fishing with the man.”

  Ann’s lack-lustre glance rested on the bars of blue-green sea which were visible through the balcony rails. “Now that I know you and Mother are all right, I’ll go to Cape Town soon. I have enough of my holiday pay left to go by plane.”

  “Getting air-minded?” he quizzed. “I wish I’d seen that big chap who brought you. Your mother thought him quite something.”

  “He’s the Peterson part of Peterson Airways.”

  “Oh, dear, why do you have to meet farmers and airmen? The Whittakers have a son, but he sits behind a desk. You couldn’t take to him, I suppose? Too ordinary.”

  Light and without intent as his jest was, Ann felt she couldn’t stand many of them. She by-passed this one.

  “There must be a telephone at the Umbenizi Store. I could find out how the planes go and book a seat. Is there any transport into Durban?”

  “There should be. The store will know. I don’t feel too happy about letting you do everything alone, though. If you’d just settle here for a week or two...”

  “I’d rather get cracking. We have lots of clothes and books there, and it will take some time to get things packed.”

  “A firm of removers will do everything, and store the stuff here till we have somewhere to put it.” He paused, then said firmly, “Well, all right, Ann, go ahead. Get it over as soon as you can and come back to help us find a house. And I’ll pay your fare myself. I insist.”

  Soon she got up and brought him some tea, took a tray to her mother. The day passed; she explored the house and walked the drying paths of the garden, strolled out to the little headland and watched waves splintering over the rocks below. She had dinner in her father’s room with her parents, drank coffee on the balcony and watched fireflies among the bushes down in the garden. Then, when the houseboy had taken the trays and her father had lit his pipe, she said good night to them both and went to the room she herself had prepared just after lunch. A big double room, though she had made up only one of the beds and left one of the wardrobes empty.

  The breeze drifted off the sea into the room, bringing with it a sad-sweet scent. Yes, it would be wise to get moving on the business in Cape Town as soon as she could.

  Arrangements took two or three days. For one thing, Ann had to walk each way to the Umbenizi Trading Store, and the weather was windless and humid, the sun merciless. Then there was the difficulty of using a party-line telephone and of making her needs understood. She managed it, booked her seat on the plane and arranged for an Indian car-owner to pick her up on Wednesday morning.

  She walked back to the house from Umbezini, and met her mother in the garden.

  “I’ve never seen things grow so fast,” Mrs. Calvert said. “A garden in Natal must be a perfect joy!” She straightened, looked anxiously at Ann’s face. “Well, dear, did you manage it?”

  Ann nodded. “It’s all fixed. If there’s anything you particularly want me to remember I’ll make a note of it.” She stood swaying a little, pushing damp tendrils from her brow.

  “Not so long ago,” said her mother gently, “you’d have been as enthusiastic over this place as I am.”

  “One grows out of things,” she said distantly.

  “Not out of loving a garden.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll come back to it.”

  Her mother was silent, contemplating a poinsettia bush covered with giant blooms. At last she asked, “Did something painful happen to you at that place—Belati?”

  Ann bent and pulled a weed. “Theo’s sister died.”

  “Oh, I see. That must have been a blow for Theo. And it was bad for you, on your holiday. I’ve been wondering whether you’ve changed a good deal or had some sort of shock. Now that I know, I won’t mention it again. Come indoors and have a cool drink. What a pity our little car is in Cape Town. I’ll be sorry to think of it being sold up; we had some good times in it, didn’t we?”

  Ann followed her mother into the house. “Why sell it? You’ll need a car here.”

  “I think Daddy is hoping for something newer, though we’ll have to wait for some time till other things are settled. If it weren’t so costly to ship it here, you could have it for yourself, eventually. Your father said so.”

  “Never mind. I’ll try to get you a good price for it.” Now that she had been with her parents for a few days Ann found singularly little to talk about. Necessarily, she told them a bit about Groenkop, but every incident she remembered led to something she would rather forget, and gradually they concluded that it had either been a dull holiday or an unpleasant one. They didn’t probe.

  Ann replied to Theo’s letter, told him she understood his decision and wished him success. About Elva she said nothing at all, because there was nothing to say, but after she had sealed her own letter, she read his once more, before destroying it. He wrote as if he was determined never to marry, but she thought that time and the right girl would change that decision; he deserved a normal life. For the present, however, it might be best for him to be single-minded.

  There were last-minute instructions before Ann left her parents that Wednesday, at dawn.

  “You’ll have to pay the maid another month’s wages when you discharge her,” said Mrs. Calvert. “Tell her I’m sorry we can’t see her again, but I know she’ll easily get a good job. Give her a nice reference, won’t you?”

  “I will. And poor old Rusty has to travel by train? He’ll hate it.”

  “It’s a pity, of course, because it means several days of nightmare for him. I do wish one could explain to a dog that he only has to put up with things for a while and then he’ll be happy again. As if staying in kennels weren’t bad enough, he has to live in a box and jolt over the countryside for nearly a week!”

  “I’d send him by air if someone could meet him in Durban. It wouldn’t be right to run to air fare myself both ways.”

  “I’m afraid we do have to conserve the cash. We’ll have a bill for your father’s operation, and we can’t decently stay here for more than two weeks; after that it will be a hotel until we’re settled in a house of our own. We paid for the long cruise, you see, and one can’t expect a refund.”

  “We’ll get through,” Ann said. “It’s just that everything has come together.” She smiled as she kissed her mother. “Sure you won’t mind being left in charge on your own?”

  “I was quite prepared for it, before you came. In any case, you won’t be away from us for so very long. Eight or ten days?”<
br />
  “About that. If I can arrange it, I’ll get Rusty on to the train that I have to catch myself, so that I can exercise him at the long stops. There’s the taxi. I must go now.” She called up the staircase a last goodbye to her father, waved to her mother from the back seat of the old car, and was on her way in the pearly light of daybreak.

  At six-thirty that evening she booked in at a small hotel in Cape Town.

  Life in the Whittakers’ weekend retreat was extremely comfortable for Mr. and Mrs. Calvert. After another six-hour storm the weather cleared, and Mr. Calvert was able to hump himself downstairs and into the veranda. On Saturday the Whittakers turned up and the two men fished contentedly in the rocky waters close to the shack. By Monday, the Calverts were alone again, enjoying the solitude and the tropical growth about them. The days passed gently, dreamily, though they did discuss Ann rather often.

  “She can’t have changed so much in just a month,” her mother fretted, “and I can’t believe the death of a girl she scarcely knew could make so profound a difference. And, you know, she hardly mentioned Theo while she was here.”

  “Just as well, if he’s gone back to flying,” commented her husband. “Stop worrying about her. Whatever it was, she’ll get over it. Ann’s sensible.”

  “But she’s unhappy.”

  “I think she’s been hurt, but you can’t fight her battles, my dear. She must learn for herself. You’ve tried to shelter Ann, but it just isn’t possible, these days. They get out and about with people you never even meet, and it’s right that they should, at her age. If she has been hurt, she’ll get over it in her own way—it’s what she’s doing now, in Cape Town.”

  “But who would hurt Ann?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Theo, perhaps, if he’s neglected her. She needed to be alone, and that’s why I consented to her going to Cape Town. I hope she’s not worried about the various things she has to do.”

  “Letters take so long, but we ought to hear from her tomorrow.”